Battle Scars
by Magicallioness
Summary: Draco has battle scars, Harry makes an effort to heal them.


_Disclaimer:  
__Anything belonging to the HP universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and others who have bought the rights to meddle with her toys. Anything that's not is mine, unless stated otherwise. I'm just playing around here, not making money, so please don't sue._

_Author's notes: This one was written (way too late) as a birthday fic for cluelesschase. Warnings for lack of betaing._Summary: Draco has battle scars; Harry makes an effort to heal them.

_**  
Battle scars**_

The heavy doors that lead into the Great Hall seem foreboding to me now. The grain of the wood, the wear around the edges, where they were pushed open thousands of times, the slight squeak as hinges centuries old perform their duty, it all used to make me feel at home, comfortable. Knowledge of what lies behind those doors chases all comfort from me and leaves goose bumps on my skin. It's been years since I've been here.

I steel myself and push away the sheltering wood, outwardly calm and poised, ignoring the unnatural speed of my pulse. I force myself to walk into Hogwart's crowded Great Hall to celebrate the fifth year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat.

I never attended before. Partly because I don't want to be confronted with the questions or accusatory looks. I'm not a Death Eater, but I didn't spy for the Order either. Instead, I chose to cower behind the lines in the relative safety of this castle; the Orders headquarters and for a long time the only safe place in Great Britain for people like me.

The most important thing that has kept me away from this kind of festivities is seeing him again, however. The face that has haunted my dreams ever since the war ended and I had room in them for anything besides fear and worry. That same face that even crept into my waking thoughts, asking me questions I don't want to answer, raking up memories I tried hard to forget.

Why then am I here now? The answer is both simple and complicated: he asked me. That same person I never want to see again and long to see almost every day asked me to come, and so here I am.

I walk over to one of the tables to get something to drink, something with alcohol in it to loosen the tension that has been building in my shoulders. I reach for a glass of red wine, but stop when a small hand with a golden ring on the ring finger moves to take the glass.

"I'm sorry," a warm voice says: "Did you want this?" I turn to look at who I think is one of the Patil twins, but I don't know which one. Her facial expression shifts from warm and generous to extremely cold and hostile on recognising me.

"Oh, it's you," is all she says before picking up the glass and walking away. I watch her go and bravely ignore the slight hurt that tickles in my chest. Who needs those bloody Gryffindors anyway?

"Here you go. Don't worry, there's enough to go around."

_I_ need those bloody Gryffindors, this one in particular. And he's standing right in front of me, handing me a glass of red wine. The hurt in my chest turns into something else, something I can't quite define and most likely don't want to.

"Thank you."

I notice with some satisfaction that my hand is quite steady as I accept the glass Harry Potter just offered me. He takes a sip of his own drink – a coke I think – and smiles.

"You know, I think that's the first time you ever thanked me," his voice is cheerful enough, but I still hear the undercurrent in it. It's filled with wistfulness, sorrow, some anger and even regret. It's the same tone of voice I use with him, the one that states clearly I wish we could start over, but we both know we can't.

"I wouldn't know, I try not to dwell on the past," I tell him, somewhat curtly. His face falls a little, but I recognize the light in his eyes: he's not going to give up. He wants something from me tonight and he's not going to give up until he gets it. I sigh, surprising myself with how difficult I find this to be. I was afraid he would yell at me, call me a traitor, a liar, a Death Eater even and I knew that would be hard, but at least I deserved that. This cheerfulness is proving much more difficult.

"I know you don't. Neither do I, but I've found that sometimes you need to look back to be able to move forward."

His voice is somewhat strained, like he fears saying this or what is coming next. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Becoming the wise war hero now? Too many lessons learned to quickly, thrust into adulthood before he was ready, scarred for life?" I mock him and I can see it hurts. It satisfies me greatly to see that, but another part of me aches for him, wishes to take it back. I silence that part ruthlessly; it hasn't served me well in the past. I expect him to react and he does, but not at all like I thought he would.

"Yes, I am scarred for life, but so are you and many others in this room tonight. It's how you deal with it that matters and I need to deal with it," he speaks calmly, not at all upset by my words. I frown and turn my eyes away from his face, scanning the Great Hall, searching for some footing in this conversation I don't understand.

"What do you want from me Potter, why am I here?"

Purpose is as good a footing as any. He tenses, shoulders moving up slightly, jaw setting.

"I'd rather not talk about that here," he answers and motions towards the door. I nod and gesture for him to lead the way; I'm in no mood to be difficult. I just want to get this over with and go home.

Harry leads me into a brightly lit hallway, onto a flight of stairs and into a dark classroom. It's only then that I realize Harry's I'm-playing-nice attitude may all be an act and I freeze in the doorway when he pulls out his wand. Instead of hexing me on the spot, he simply spells on a few of the oil lamps that decorate what I think is a disused classroom. The light flickers, playing a game of chase with the shadows on the walls and painting Harry's face in a warm glow that makes his small smile seem welcoming instead of nervous.

I walk into the room and close the door behind me. There are some desks placed here and there and I pick the one closest to the front of the classroom to sit on. Harry drops down on the one that stands against the wall to my right, leans back and closes his eyes for a moment. He truly seems to be having a difficult time of this and somewhere deep down I feel that old warmth glowing softly, a shadow of the fire that had started burning there for him. It scares me and I shift uncomfortably on the desk.

Harry opens his eyes at the slight noise and looks at me. He sighs, drops his head again and rakes a hand through his hair as if not being able to find the words for what he needs to say.

"Why am I here, Harry, " I ask again, in a much friendlier voice this time. I curse the flame that licks my insides, trying to see if it can grow once again. I don't want it to, I really don't.

Harry looks up, startled at the use of his first name. I haven't done that for years, heck; I haven't talked to him for years. It seems like centuries now that I'm so close to him and the reasons why are growing faint and irrelevant.

"Because I need closure, " Harry says and the little spark dies of shock. Right, closure, as in an ending.

"And you need me for that, why exactly?" My voice has gone sharp again, pain showing through quite clearly, particularly for someone who knows me as well as Harry does.

"Because I don't know where we stand. During your time at Hogwarts, during the war we became friends, at least I thought of you that way. I even began to think of you in other ways and I thought you felt the same for me at the time. I thought something beautiful was growing between us and when I finally defeated Voldemort, when there finally was nothing to keep us from exploring that new feeling, you just disappeared."

There's so much pain resonating through his words, so much uncertainty. I never realized exactly how bad I hurt him by running away. Because that is basically what I did. I had my fill of difficulties and pain, I just wanted to lead a quiet, normal life, and so I ran away from everything that had potential to hurt me anymore or cause difficulties. Harry was one of the main risks for both.

"We were friends, very close friends. You became very … important to me. And I felt something more too." My voice is quite soft now, laden with hidden emotion and things I cannot say. Knowing Harry, he'll hear them anyway.

"Then why did you just vanish like that?" The question speaks of an inability to understand, not of anger or accusation. And I realize he was never angry with me, not really, he just tried to understand why I left him like that and he failed to do so. I sigh, trying to get rid of the tension that has taken control over my chest. I don't want to be having this conversation, but I do. It's painful and difficult, but it'll also resolve some things. Because I've found that a life without emotional risks is indeed calm, but also not worth living.

"Because being with you was just to difficult. When the war was going on and we were in the midst of all that pain and fear, you were my strength. A friend, someone who cared about me, who I could hold onto. When the war ended, I could finally make all the pain and fear go away, but being with you just kept reminding me of it and so I had to get away from you", it's not what I wanted to say and I'm not sure I'm making sense. I am sure though that I succeeded in hurting Harry once again, deeply this time.

"It wasn't any different for me, but I was willing to face it, for you."

The spark re-ignites into a burning flame at those words, while a knife twists in my gut at the same time.

"I never was the brave one," it's an apology and he recognizes it as such. He pulls up his legs against his chest in an effort to protect himself from any more pain. I hold on to the edge of the desk I'm sitting on. There's an overwhelming need pushing in my chest, screaming at me to go to him, comfort him, tell him it will all be all right and were this years earlier at Hogwarts, I would've. Now, I can't.

"So, were does that leave us, does that mean you never want to see me again?"

He doesn't move, not a muscle. Every sinew in his body is taunt, all his shields going up to fend off my answer.

"No … Yes," I let my head drop into my hands, despair taking over for the moment: "I don't know."

I feel, rather then hear him sliding of his desk and walking over to me. The hand he lays on my shoulder burns a hole into my skin and reaches into that flame that has been rekindled. Everything inside me burns, I burn for him and God it hurts, it hurts so bad. I let myself fall against Harry's chest and suddenly five years of pent up emotions rush to the surface. It's like a tidal wave that gains momentum with each new emotion it finds. I feel strong arms encircling me, steadying me and I hold on, just like I did years ago. When the storm finally dies down Harry lets go of me and drops to his hinges so we are at eyelevel.

"Draco, please, just talk to me," he asks and how can I refuse him that? How can I refuse him anything?

"I'm scared, Harry. I want to be with you, I really do, but it rakes up memories I've been trying so hard to forget, it forces me to ask questions to which I fear the answers and it hurts. It hurts that the war can still take this much away from me, even after all this time," the words come out in a rush, confessing a truth I've kept hidden, even from myself. I sound like a frightened little boy, who is still in the middle of the war and I think I even feel that way. But only for a moment, only until Harry sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders.

"It can only take things from you if you let it, Draco. You ran from it when it was going on and you ran from it after it ended, but you'll have to face the war sometime, Draco. It's not going to be easy, there will be answers you'll find less scary then you thought, there will be those you'll find more horrible than your worst nightmare, but at least you'll have answered those questions. And once you've answered them, you'll find a place for those memories too. And when you've done that, maybe we can make some new, happier ones to replace them, " Harry talks softly, but confidently, like he has done all he's talking about and it gives me courage. Courage to try and confidence that I can do it.

I lean into Harry a little and smile up at him.

"I would very much like to make new memories with you, Harry."


End file.
